Opera de Rouge
by kristinekat13
Summary: A story of obsession,betrayal,jelousy, and above all-love. PotOxMoulin Rouge
1. An Enchanted boy

Disclaimer: I DO own PotO and Moulin Rouge! I do! –wakes up- Darn, no I don't…

Amanda: Hey all! This is my first real story and the movies I am mixing are so much alike already it's scary…

Claire: and sad too...only, Erik is better at everything...and I mean EVERYTHING!

Amanda: Ummmmm…. – shoves chocolate in Claire's mouth- Well, now that that's fixed, on with the show!

Oh, and words in italics are song lyrics.

Paris, 1890;

It was a dreary day to be out on the streets in Paris. Sure, the rumors were true that the nightlife was great, but to actually live here could be very boring and humdrum. Of course, if you were drunk and depressed, you wouldn't notice.

_There was a boy,_

_a very strange enchanted boy._

_They say he wondered very far, very far,_

_Over land and sea._

Erik looked over to the window as he threw his empty bottle of Absinthe to a corner and tried to sit up. After drinking a full bottle of anything and not sleeping for 3 days, one would expect to have a migraine beyond belief and only wish to lie down in a bed. Well, not him. He had always been stubborn and besides, he had felt worse pain than this before. You couldn't tell by looking at him though. His shirt hung limp on his pale anorexic body and his face drooped with dark circles under his crystalline blue eyes. Well, as much of his eyes as you could see. He wore a mask on the right side of his face from his hair line to just below the lips.

_A little shy and sad of eye,_

_But very wise was he._

As he attempted to stagger towards his desk, he looked at his typewriter and retreated in disgust. That cold, metal reminder of a broken promise and a broken soul had sat there, unused, for months now gathering dust. He had many times been temped to pawn it for money to continue his steady diet of alcohol, but could never bring himself to do it.

It was the last thing he had of hers.

_And then one day,_

_One magic day he passed my way,_

_While we spoke of many things, _

_Fools and kings, _

_This he said to me:_

Not wanting to run from his past any more and suddenly having a sickening feeling that he wasn't going to be alive much longer, Erik put a piece of yellowed paper in his contraption of dust and dreams and began typing:

_The greatest thing you'll ever learn, _

_Is just to love and be loved in return._

The Opera de Rouge

Amanda: Are you all excited now? I hope so, and ill have the next chapter up in a few days (as long as my mom doesn't take the computer away. I seem to have formed an unhealthy dependency on it and my school grades are lacking because of it...)


	2. A New Beginning

Amanda: Ello again! I love Erik! Ummmmm... just thought id say that... Now ladies and gentlemen, let's shed a little illumination of this story, shall we? (Oh, and I know the dates aren't correct but I needed after PotO and before MR so...)

Paris, 1889: I decided to start a new life. After Christine left me I had no reason to stay at the Opera Populaire and truthfully, I didn't want to either. This place held too many memories and I didn't care to relive any of them. According to all the gossip and the men some of the ballet rats brought home, a revolution was taking place in Paris lately and people were going wild. Men were no longer taking up their father's businesses, instead they were becoming something called a 'bohemian' and going wherever their heart took them using music and liquor. Young ladies, even some old, gave up their jobs as seamstresses and maids and became cancan dancers and prostitutes, doing whatever they pleased with no concern to others. The whole ordeal was being lead by the belief in beauty, freedom, truth and love. I, never having the luxury to have such things (or at least have them returned), decided that I ought to. That's how I found myself traveling to a modern village of Montmartre, having demanded an extra amount of money for my last payment from the managers, where I decided to pursue a career in writing. I had thought of music, but I could only do that when I was inspired and I had truly doubted I would even get to know anyone there, much less be inspired to create music about them. Of course, that was before I met her...

Erik sighed, looking out the window. The sun was beginning to set and he wanted to stop writing, stop bringing back memories that he had tried so hard to forget. He could ball up this paper, go downstairs, meet a couple of women, and buy a drink. Of course though, he knew, he really couldn't. He was determined not to let her down, he almost had before... So, with this in mind Erik crossed out the last sentence and continued writing.

Nonetheless, I rented an apartment with my past behind me and started my fresh existence. Surprisingly, I quickly made friends and was amused to find out no one would question me about my mask, as it had become a popular trend to wear one. I soon became accustomed to hanging around the closest bars and finding new people to talk to all the time. As time wore on I began to finally feel like a normal man and actually learned to control my anger so much better, as all around me were only interested in love, not hate and scorn. I had become a regular in town and some I actually called 'friend'. And I was content. Until I heard the news.

Christine had died. She had apparently caught a cold, which developed into pneumonia and even her precious viscount couldn't save her this time. I didn't know how to react to the news, so I did as my companions did when they had troubles and had my first glass of Absinthe. The alcohol made my senses go crazy. My eyesight swam before me and my nostrils seemed to burn. I stumbled about saying things I cannot recall to anyone who'd listen. It was then I suppose, I told everyone my story about Christine, thankfully leaving out choice parts about me kidnapping her (yes, I came to terms with myself and now called it that) and my face. My bar mates then decided that what I needed to get over this was another woman- brilliant bunch, weren't they? So, with my eyes drooping and my cheeks red with laughter, I was brought to the Moulin Rouge for my first, but not last, time.

Amanda: Sorry if this chapter seems rushed; I wanted to get right into the story! Review! Review! – stops at realizing she sounds like a bird-


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